Category — Travel

Around this time last year, I wrote a post about some of the little things I miss about the United States: coffee shops with Wi-Fi, getting anything done during the month of August, drivers who are capable of choosing just one lane on the highway. I love living in Italy about 95 percent of the time. The other 5 percent — when our house gas tank runs dry in the middle of a national truck strike, when the trash piles start to block traffic, when someone tells me “va bene” for the 100th time when all is NOT “va bene” — is a small price to pay for the privilege of living here.

On the other side of the coin, while there are many aspects of living in the States that I miss, there are also a few that I’m happy to be missing out on.

Sometimes a total disregard for safety is awesome.

1. The presidential election

Oh, calm down. I’m obviously going to vote in the November election (request for absentee ballot, sent: stop judging me) and I read the news, but two years of endless campaigning (read: baby kissing, finger pointing and mud slinging) makes me weary. And then a brilliant scientific mind like this guy comes along, and I’m especially grateful I don’t have access to 24-hour American news channels because I just might gouge out my eyes. Italy has inane news programs, of course, but I have the benefit of only understanding 40 to 50 percent (on a good day).

2. Check-pushing restaurants

“I’m just going to put this here for whenever you’re ready, no hurry…” That’s what a server says when she is indeed hoping you hurry up and pay your bill so she can turn the table and maximize the tips for her shift. I’m not saying this to blame servers for this system; they are vastly underpaid and overly dependent on tips to make a living, and I did the same thing when I was waiting tables. What bothers me is that the American obsession with speed and efficiency has made lingering over a good meal with friends damn near impossible. The last time I was home, I noticed a disturbing trend of servers delivering your check at the same time they deliver your food. BUT NO RUSH.

In Italy, we often have the opposite problem: we need to ask for the check several times before we get it, and no one is ever in any kind of rush. This can be annoying if we are running late or need to be somewhere at a certain time, but mostly, I love being able to sit, relax and enjoy a three-hour parade of food and wine and limoncello without anyone trying to push us out the door. Some things are sacred.

3. These pesky “safety” standards

Last month, Brian and I traveled to the Aeolian Islands in Sicily with our dear friends Jess and Peter, and on Stromboli, we climbed a volcano (see above). Like an active, liquid-hot-magma-spewing, no-joke volcano. It was a five-hour hike: one way was up a steep, rocky cliff face with no guardrails at dusk, and the other was more of a Hail Mary stumble down a slippery mountain of sand and large rocks in complete darkness. And in between, we sat and watched live volcanic activity erupting below us. And it was amazing. One of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. The entire hike, I couldn’t stop thinking, “There is no way in hell this would ever happen in the States. It’s way too unsafe. That idiot kid leaping from rock to rock in front of me has a 1 in 3 chance of survival.” The Italians, on the other hand, make you go with a guide, hand you a helmet and a headlamp and tell you to go nuts. Va bene.

I listened to a lot of Joni Mitchell growing up. My parents met while students at the University of San Francisco in 1971 and between the two of them, they have an impressive collection of rock and folk albums. As a child, I loved sliding the big records out of their jackets and cueing up Joan Baez, The Beatles, Bob Dylan, James Taylor and The Rolling Stones, but Joni was always a particular favorite.

Some of her music was weird and experimental and perhaps fueled by some of the pharmaceutical products of the era, but I loved how her voice sounded completely original and unlike anyone else’s. And those gorgeous lyrics.

“Big Yellow Taxi,” “A Case of You,” “Chelsea Morning,” “California” — I love them all, but for me, nothing beats “Carey.” When I was younger, I liked it because I thought it was pretty and fun and talked about mermaids. Then when I was in college, the song took on new meaning and became an anthem for my wanderlust and desire to live a nomadic life… at least for a little while. I emailed my mom about what significance the song had for her, and she said almost the same thing: “The song expressed my own longing to travel and see the world, and there was so much freedom and joy and excitement in it.”

Come on down to the Mermaid Café and I will
Buy you a bottle of wine
And we’ll laugh and toast to nothing and smash our empty glasses down
Let’s have a round for these freaks and these soldiers
A round for these friends of mine
Let’s have another round for the bright red devil
Who keeps me in this tourist town…

Maybe I’ll go to Amsterdam
Maybe I’ll go to Rome
And rent me a grand piano
And put some flowers ’round my room
But let’s not talk about fare-thee-wells now
The night is a starry dome
And they’re playin’ that scratchy rock and roll
Beneath the Matala moon

I never bothered to look into who Carey was or where I could find this Matala moon until I stumbled across this travel article from The Guardian. It turns out that Matala is a village in Crete, once popular with hippies and artists (including my girl Joni), and the inspiration for the song.

I liked this description from another Guardian piece:

This song is about her time in a hippy commune in Crete in the late 60s, a place she had found when, in her own escape from the fame and success of her first three albums, she set off around Europe. Carey was the cook at the Mermaid Cafe, who wore his red hair tucked into a turban, the “bright red devil who keeps me in this tourist town”. When Mitchell sings “It sure is hard to leave here, but it’s really not my home,” it is not laced with bitterness and regret but an optimism that the right path is to be found elsewhere.

Brian and I are heading to Crete next week for a few days, and we’ll be staying about an hour from Matala, near the beach town of Plakias. I have been listening to “Carey” on loop for weeks now in preparation. I love the idea that we might hear a little scratchy rock ‘n’ roll under the same Matala moon that she wrote about all those years ago. Sadly, the Mermaid Café is now closed, but we’ll be sure to find another spot to laugh and toast to nothing and smash our empty glasses down.

Last weekend, Brian and I celebrated our one-year anniversary of living in Naples. What a beautiful whirlwind year it’s been. I still wake up most days not believing our good luck. The other days, I wonder why on earth anyone would set off fireworks at 7 a.m.

Boat ride to Procida

In brief:

• My Italian isn’t the best, but it’s a whole lot better than it was a year ago (I may have graduated from toddler to preschool Italian, very exciting).

• I have mostly gotten used to driving here; sometimes, I even enjoy it. And I’m warming up to the idea of getting a moped.

• At least once a week, I say, “Oh sweet Jesus, how am I going to live without this when we move back to the States?” while eating or drinking something amazing.

• I never get tired of walking around tiny Italian towns with cobblestone streets, sampling at local wineries or eating in family trattorias with red-and-white checkered tablecloths.

Another fabulous winery, Sardinia

• Life moves at a slower pace around here, and I’m starting to accept that my impatience does nothing except infuriate me.

• The mulled wine sold at outdoor markets in winter is perhaps the greatest thing ever.

• La vita è bella. It’s been a wonderful year, and I can’t wait to kick off 2012.
  

Buone feste!

Brian and I are about to embark on an awesome three-week trip to some beautiful European cities (Munich, Berlin, Oslo, Prague and Budapest), most of which we’ve never visited before.

I know. I feel like a jerk-face for having such a sweet travel opportunity. Does it make you feel any better to know that we’re not able to take the private jet and are having to fly coach and take trains like all the other commoners? I thought it might.

While we were planning this trip, I realized three things:

1. Brian and I have never traveled together for such a long block of time (the closest we’ve come was our 2005 road trip from New Orleans to Sonoma and back).
2. I haven’t traveled for three consecutive weeks or visited so many cities in one trip since I studied abroad in 2004 and then moved back to France in 2005.
3. Traveling at 28 with your husband is probably different than traveling at 20 or 22 with your girlfriends.

On all of my college and post-grad travel adventures, I had very little money (thanks for not letting me starve during the lowest points, Mom and Dad), very few plans and probably very little common sense. But we had a blast.

Gettin’ piratey in Mykonos

Among the highlights:

• Losing my passport on the train from Paris to London and getting yelled at by the mean English lady who worked at the American Embassy
• Crashing for the night in an anarchist squat with Nay Nay and Parisa in London (and feeling wretched the next day after eating the free vegan shepherd’s pie)
• Karaoke-ing up a storm with Kaila and study abroad program friends near Place de la Bastille in Paris

Kaila in her natural Scottish habitat

• Getting locked out of the Christian hostel in Amsterdam (the only one available that night, which happened to have a curfew) with Nay Nay and Parisa and trying to sleep in the train station after the bars closed

WWJD?

Parisa (Trouble #1) and Nay Nay (Trouble #2) in Amsterdam

• Winning the pick-up lines bar trivia contest in Barcelona with Nay Nay and a team of Irish guys (and getting mugged on the way back to the hostel that night)
• Getting lost on a mountain hike north of Barcelona and meeting a delightful old man and his goats
• Befriending a bunch of New Zealanders with Jenna in Santorini, who convinced us to go swimming in a hotel pool (not our hotel), resulting in us running from security guards and going dancing at a club in our wet bathing suits

Jenna and I discover you can buy 1.5 L bottles of wine in Greece for less money than bottles of water

• Taking an 18-hour ferry with Jenna from Greece to Italy with no supplies except snacks, a pack of cards and a bottle of whiskey (we befriended awesome Germans who stayed up to play cards with us)

I pulled out the last comprehensive Europe guidebook that I purchased, a very well-worn copy of Let’s Go Europe 2004, that I used on all of these shenanigan-filled trips. I love some of the notes I’m discovering in the margins:

• Brick Lane: Indian food, hipsters. Camden Town: shopping, coolness. (London, from Nay Nay)
• Kebab = good (Zaytoons, Dublin)
• I ♥ U (St. Malo)
• LAME (Mulligan’s, Dublin)
• Shelter City = psycho “Jesus is Lord” hostel (Amsterdam)
• Obscenely well-lit (Cafe de Jaren, Amsterdam)

A gallery of Nay Nay awesomeness:

Sad Venice: killing mosquitoes in our weird spaceship-shaped cabin outside the city

Happy Venice: Eating the zillionth gelato of the day

A record low on food desperation: saltine crackers and mustard on the ferry to Corfu

Yarrrrrrrr! Can you tell the eye patch is homemade?

I’m looking forward to traveling with a little more cash and research on what I want to see and do (and I hope a wee bit more sense… no guarantees), and I know Brian and I will have an amazing, slightly more grown-up trip. We’ll stay in budget hotels and rental apartments instead of questionable hostels where you have to rent the sheets separately and sleep in a room with 15 other people. We’ll eat some good meals as well as bring bread and cheese for lunch on long train rides. Fingers crossed, we’ll return with all of our belongings and most of our dignity.

I’m probably a little too old to travel the way I did in my early 20s… but I am ready for my sweet ladyfriends to come back to Europe so we can see how we roll in our late 20s. Takers?

Forgive me this “Julie and Julia” moment (did anyone else want to slap the whine right out of Amy Adams’ character in that movie?), but I’m a wee bit obsessed with Julia Child right now.

I finally started reading her delightfully unpretentious memoir, “My Life in France,” and halfway through it, I am convinced that we would have been best friends had we been contemporaries. I’m almost ready to take the plunge and buy her intimidating classic, “Mastering the Art of French Cooking.” There are so many butter-based sauces in my future.

I love how she falls in love with Paris, one of my most favorite cities, when she and her husband Paul move there after World War II. I love how she falls in love with French food and cooking and how she describes every memorable meal in mouthwatering detail. And I love how she falls in love with Marseille when she and her husband move there after Paris, even though it is not as outwardly charming as Paris and is often accused of being dirty and dangerous.

This is how my friend Julia describes it:

Marseille’s hot noise was so different from Paris’s cool sophistication. To may of our northern-French friends it was terra incognita: they had never been here, and considered it a rough, rude, “southern” place. But it struck me as a rich broth of vigorous, emotional, uninhibited Life– a veritable “bouillabaisse of a city,” as Paul put it.

Yes. She is talking about Marseille, a gritty yet beautiful city that I really like, but she could be also be describing Naples or New Orleans. Vigorous, emotional, uninhibited. Eccentric, vibrant, exhilarating. Just the way I like my cities.

After an excruciating, seemingly neverending game of billet roulette, Brian and I have emerged victorious. We’re moving to Italy, baby! We win! (Of course, our back-up plan was to stay here in Hawaii, so there was no real “losing” in this scenario… I do so hate losing.)

Pozzuoli, the gorgeous little town outside Naples where we hope to live

Brian initially got assigned to a sweet shore duty job in Pearl Harbor, which would have allowed him to have a fairly normal schedule– reasonable hours, no more duty days and large blocks of time off. It was a great job in a great location, but we were still a little disappointed. I know, who is disappointed by living in Hawaii for two more years? Call us spoiled and ungrateful, but we really had our hearts set on living abroad.

On to Plan B: Brian threw his hat in the ring for a flag aide position (working for an admiral) in Naples and, after a lot of “oh no, it’s not available anymore,” “oh yes, it is,” he applied, interviewed and got the job. So we’re moving to Naples! For three years! I have been speaking in exclamation points a lot lately because I’m so excited. I can’t wait to learn a new language, live in a new country, travel like crazy and eat and drink everything in sight. Mmm, pizza, gelato, mozzarella, wine, limoncello, gnocchi. Did I mention Naples is a stone’s throw away from Rome, Capri and the Amalfi Coast? Cannot. Wait. It is going to be an incredible experience, and I feel like we just won the lottery.

There are only a couple drawbacks:

1. We move really soon… in a month to be exact. It’s hard to process the fact that we have to leave this amazing place and our awesome friends so soon. Plus, we have a very long list of things we have to do before moving two oceans away, which is a little stressful (we have a “fun” to-do list and a “not fun” to-do list; guess which one is longer). We had hoped to have a few more months to say a proper farewell, but we’ll make the most of our remaining time.

2. It will be sad to be so far away from friends and family for so long. I’m sure I will have bouts of homesickness, and it will be tough not being able to fly home as frequently as I can here. California and Hawaii will be quite a trek from Italy, but on the bright side, we will actually be closer to East Coast and Southern friends and family than we are now. We also expect (demand, really) lots of visitors. We have had more than 25 people visit us in the year and a half we’ve lived in Hawaii, so we hope for even better showing in Naples. Consider that a challenge, folks. This time we’ll make everyone sign a guest book.

My head is still spinning, but it’s finally starting to sink in. I’ll write more as we get closer to the move; in the meantime, please feel free to share any Italy tips or recommendations. Grazie mille!

Photo courtesy of jimmyg‘s Flickr account

Poor Dahlgren. This place already gets such a bad rap with the Navy folks that I feel like I’m kicking a lame puppy every time I mock it. I may have been too harsh when I called it “the armpit of the East Coast.” Yes, it is in the middle of frickin’ nowhere, 45 minutes away from civilization or a decent meal, but on the whole, Dahlgren has actually been pretty good to us.

Dinner in Colonial Beach

I’ll admit I’ve had some low moments where I desperately miss friends and family and basic social interaction, but they usually pass pretty quickly. Life is simple and pleasant here most of the time, and I decided to make a list of things I like about our Dahlgren existence so I can refer to it whenever I’m feeling like Debbie Downer.

1. Quality Time

Brian and I get two whole months together in the same place before our next forced separation, which is a huge deal. A week or two after we arrive in Hawaii, he’ll have to fly out to meet his ship for the last three months of its deployment. I’m determined to appreciate this time, because in another month, I will be longing for more evenings watching “NCIS” reruns together.

Oh no! That’s not Brian. I swear he’s just a friend. 

Check out our fancy digs: the office/living room/dining room

The first time we’ve gotten to unpack our suitcases in months

2.  Reunions

We have gotten to see so many of our friends and family members over the last few weeks. We spent Easter with Brian’s family and a few friends in Fairfax, went out with the crazy Woodson High gang in Arlington, camped and brewery toured with our favorite New Jerseyites in Rehoboth Beach, dined with Brian’s war buddy in Richmond, caught up with my grandparents in Laurel and tore up D.C. with old friends from both coasts. It’s rare that I get to spend this much time on the East Coast, and it’s a pretty incredible opportunity to see everyone before we take off again.

Getting into trouble with the Fairfax kids

Uncle Brian with two of his cutie-pie nephews

Aw, Lil Lisa sleeping off her Easter food coma

Yay, puzzles are fun!

We’re in Delaware

A-mazing camp breakfast of bacon, eggs and more bacon

California girls are a force to be reckoned with

Cynthia and Stu putting “Dancing With the Stars” to shame

Mini Camp RAD reunion!

3. Dinners

Sometimes I miss having dozens of options of where to eat, drink and be merry, but sometimes it’s nice to narrow those options. And when I say “narrow down,” I mean “eliminate.” There is no fabulous sushi restaurant down the road and no Reginelli’s to deliver take-out here, so we are forced to cook our own well-balanced meals like responsible adults. We have only two burners and a microwave, but we have managed to cook some pretty fabulous dinners: gnocchi with healthy-ish alfredo sauce and veggies, Spanish tortilla, shrimp stir-fry, even some Zatarain’s gumbo. Often our friends Heather and Amy join us, we open a bottle of wine and we make a party out of it.

Our luxurious kitchen 

Mmmm… tortilla

4. Books

Wait, what are these “books” you speak of? You mean the ones with the pages? That aren’t on a screen? I read and write things for a living, and I am ashamed to admit how infrequently I pick up an actual book these days. Since I have so little to do in the evenings here, I have had a lot more time and motivation to read. I picked up a stack of novels and short stories from the itty-bitty library on base, and I’ve been reading a few chapters every night. I’m almost done with “Tender is the Night” (partially inspired by the time Fitzgerald spent in Antibes Juan-les-Pins, where I went last October) and the second half of “Eat, Pray, Love” is next on my list. Reading feels like such a luxury after depriving myself for so long, and I am loving the indulgence.

Moral of the story: I’m pretty happy here; with the right people, some good food and a little bit of red wine, you can make anywhere fun.

Some of you might remember the last time I was in France. I lived not far from Antibes in a quaint little Provençal town, where I taught adorable French children how to say “It is Thursday” and “I like to eat pizza.” I had a few problems when I lived in France, namely that the French people like to mess with my head and deprive me of things like heat, money and contact with the outside world.

This last trip to France, however, was much more smooth… probably because I wasn’t there long enough to incite riots or train strikes. Kathleen and I both caught a vicious Gallic cold as we were leaving this fine country (totally unrelated to us staying out too late drinking wine and dancing), which is one of my excuses for not posting in so long.

A picture is worth a thousand words, so here are a few highlights from our trip, as told through ridiculous snapshots (also check out Kathleen’s hilarious and more detailed account of our voyage):

Absinthe bar, complete with funny hats and drunken Belgians

Kathleen always has a song in her heart and a dance in her step

On the Isle of Ste. Marguerite, Esther indulges in two essential French food groups: chocolate and beer

We make a very entertaining Scottish friend at a five-hour happy hour in Cannes

Kathleen and I discover a fabulous club in Antibes and find our dance cards are always full

At Le Refuge des Fondues in Montmartre, Paris (yes, that is red wine served in baby bottles– to avoid the tax on stemmed glasses, apparently)

Before… but why is the wine gone?

After… yayyyyy!

Fin

(OK, now I am back to the real world and will be posting again on the wedding planning I swear I’m doing. Two and a half months until the wedding… holy crapshit.)

Sorry I haven’t written in a couple weeks. You see, I was just so busy preparing for my trip to the French Riviera, I couldn’t be bothered to write or even do any wedding-related items. It’s very stressful traveling to the Côte d’Azur– making sure I have the right clothes for the famously temperate climate and enough memory cards to capture the Mediterranean’s beauty effectively, not to mention brushing up on essential French phrases like “Je voudrais un autre pichet de vin rouge” and “Ne me touche pas– tu me fais chier!” Life is so hard sometimes.

The obligatory Mediterranean resort photo

Fine, I’ll stop being completely obnoxious, but I seriously got a chance to go to the French Riviera. For free! I think that merits a little insufferable gloating. I’m on a two-week trip in Antibes Juan-les-Pins (between Cannes and Nice) with a program through the French Consulate optimistically called “Jeunes Talents.” There are eight of us young talents going to four different French cities– Antibes, Lyon, Montpellier and Biarritz– to take photographs for an exhibition and some brochures. For some reason, Loyola is one of the schools sending recent grads and, thank the baby Jesus, I take pictures and speak French. It’s been awhile since I’ve been shooting on a regular basis, though, so I’m hoping it’s like riding a bike…

Esther, another Loyola grad who majored in visual arts, is in Antibes as well so I have a partner in crime to help me eat and drink my way through the city. And in an awesome turn of events, my love Kathleen decided to take a spontaneous vacation to France! She found a cheap fare to Paris and is taking the train to Antibes to meet me on Wednesday. We’ll hang out here for a few days, soak up the sun and stuff ourselves with mussels and escargot, then spend our last two days in Paris. Our conversations about the trip mostly consist of us going, “Eeeeee!” over and over and sometimes jumping up and down.

I had wanted to keep up a Flickr account with all my pictures while I’m traveling, but sadly, I don’t think it’s possible this time around. The gallery in L.A. where we’re having the exhibition in March doesn’t want us to publish our images on the Web until after the opening. Understandable, but a bummer nonetheless. I think I’ll be able to send around a Picasa album or two, so let me know if you’re interested in getting in on that action. I’ll also post a few photos to the blog that I don’t plan to submit. In other words, you can see my photographic rejects here! Who’s excited? I already paid for a pro Flickr account, though, so you can be damn sure I’ll use it for something– take a gander every now and then.

I’ll write more later, but here are a few pictures from my first days here… Gros bisous!

Restaurant in Old Antibes

My neverending quest for the perfect pétanque picture (a.k.a. me stalking old men)

Street in Old Antibes

Soccer game with an unexpected player